


Drive

by Pink_Dalek



Series: Drive [1]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: F/M, Gen, Road Trip, Unexpectedly Impulsive! Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek
Summary: When he sees Joan leaving at the end of “Coda,” Morse makes a different choice.





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the fifth season *finally* starting over here, I dusted off and polished this little story.

Morse wasn't sure why he checked out the car and parked in front of the Thursdays' house— it was some imperative need to be near Joan that he couldn't explain. To make sure she was all right. The house was quiet, all its residents asleep.

Or so he thought. Joan slipped from the house, dressed and carrying a suitcase. Morse watched her, wondering what was going on. He supposed she could be going to stay with someone for awhile. But why leave at such an hour? And why weren't her parents seeing her off?

He felt certain she was running away. She didn't notice the black Jaguar following her as Morse worked out where she was going. Train station— he pulled over and parked, getting out to follow her, his heart pounding. "Miss Thursday." She turned to look at him. "You're going. Like this?"

Her eyes were so troubled and full of heartbreak that he felt his own heart break for her. "I have to."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know."

"Stay. Just give it time."

"I can't."

"Everything that happened— just give it a chance." His heart was in his throat. Joan shook her head slightly. "You mean the world to them. You mean the world— " he could feel his eyes welling and blinked a few times. She looked at him and sighed.

There were moments in his life, few and far apart, when Endeavour Morse did something impulsive, without his usual ruminating and overthinking. "I could drive you. Pick somewhere, and we'll go. It would save you the train fare."

“Morse— "

"London, maybe?"

"What if I said Edinburgh?"

"I'd have to stop at mine long enough to pick up more money for petrol. I've only a few quid with me."

"You're serious." She shook her head. "You're mad."

He shrugged. "Probably."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere we can get to with— " he checked his wallet— "three pounds— " rummaged in his pockets— "six shillings, and seventeen pence."

Joan opened her purse. "I've six quid, ten shillings, couple of tanners, and seven pence."

"Gives us nine pounds, sixteen shillings— "

"And thirty-six pence, all total."

"I've at least another six or eight pounds at my flat."

Joan shook her head. "All right. But I get to choose the direction. And when I find someplace, you're to leave me there. No questions."

He held up his hands, a gesture of surrender. "No questions." Morse stowed her suitcase in the boot while Joan got in the passenger seat. When they reached his flat, she followed him down the short flight of stairs. "You could have waited in the car.”

"I don't trust you not to ring Dad and tell him to come fetch me."

"I wouldn't do that." Morse opened a tin on a shelf and handed her a wad of currency.

Joan counted the notes, fingers nimble from experience at the bank. "This is ten pounds!"

Morse shrugged. "Take it. You'll need something to get settled once you decide where you're going." He threw some clothes and his shaving kit into a holdall. "Let's go then. If you still want to."

"Yeah. I do."

Morse drove them to the Radcliffe Camera; it had always felt like the center of Oxford to him, even if technically it wasn't. "Pick a direction."

"I was going to look at the train schedule and choose someplace." Morse waited while she considered. "West."

"Go west, young woman." Morse put the car in gear. He drove through quiet streets until they reached the edge of town. "Gloucester or Worchester?"

“Hmm— Gloucester."

Once they were on the highway, he asked simply, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He turned on the radio, tuning in a classical station. Joan reached over and changed it to a pop station. _When You Walk in the Room_ by the Searchers came through the speakers and Joan sat back, staring out her side window at the green countryside rolling by.

 

The drive was quiet, other than Morse occasionally asking for further directions when they reached major forks in the road. By the time they reached Gloucester, the car was down to an eighth of a tank and it was midday. "I need to find a petrol station and then we'll stop for lunch. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

"I'm peckish," Joan admitted. While the car was being refueled, Morse asked if there were any decent pubs around.

"You trust the word of a petrol station attendant?"

"Workingmen tend to know the places with the best food for a reasonable price and good beer. What?"

Joan was looking at him with a mixture of surprise and something he couldn't put his finger on. "Never expected that from a bloke who went to Oxford."

"On scholarship. I grew up a cabbie’s son. It has its practical uses, I suppose."

"Why didn't you finish your degree? Dad heard you left with only a term to go."

"I was engaged. She left me for someone she'd known before. I could barely get out of bed for two months, failed all my classes, lost the scholarship, and left Oxford in disgrace. Ran away, really. It's how I know running away doesn't solve anything. I served in the signal corps, then joined the police. I spent two years as a PC, then transferred to the detective division. They sent me to Carshall for a year, who then sent a group of us to Cowley to help find a missing girl. The rest you know." Morse paid the attendant, then followed his directions to a nearby pub. It was clean and well-kept, busy with people on their lunch break.

They studied the menu. "It seems odd not to have a corned beef sandwich," Joan admitted. She settled on a pasty and glass of shandy, while Morse ordered a ploughman's and asked about local beer to go with it. Then they took turns visiting the loo to wash up.

Morse returned to their table to find Joan looking concerned. "Do you have today off?" she asked.

"No, I don't. Never even thought about it. I should phone in. Your dad probably wonders what happened to me. What about you?"

"I left them a note. I told them I need some time, and not to look for me. With you missing as well, Dad's likely to think we ran off together."

"Perhaps I should stay lost awhile too, then,” Morse joked. He shook his head. "I just sat my sergeant's exam. Wouldn't do to get myself sacked now." He looked around, spotting a pay phone. "Wish me luck."

"You worry too much. Dad likes you."

Morse dialed through to the CID office.

"Strange."

Morse relaxed. "I’m glad it's you."

"Matey! Where the hell are you? We thought maybe you were ill, but the old man went by yours and said your flat was dark. And I saw where you signed out the car. He said Miss Thursday's missing, too." There was a moment of silence, then "Morse! Did you run off with Thursday's daughter?"

“Er— not exactly. I mean, I'm with her, but— "

"You'd better get your arse to Gretna, matey, or he's going to kill you. He might do it anyway."

"It's not like that. I'm giving her a lift."

"Been nice knowing you. I’ll send flowers to your funeral."

“Just— just tell him she's okay, I'm okay, and I'll try to bring her home with me. She's still upset about yesterday."

"I'll do my best. She's a cracking one though, and marrying the boss's daughter wouldn't hurt your career— "

"Strange! We're not getting married! There’s the pips on the phone. Good-bye."

"Good luck."

The look on his face when his lunch arrived made Joan laugh. He was too happy to hearit to be embarrassed. He took a long drink of beer and sighed with pleasure. "This is a good one. You land here, I'm likely to visit just to have a pint or two of it." As he ate, he kept slipping pieces of bread with ham and cheese onto her plate without a word.

"Morse, my pasty's big enough. I don't need your lunch as well."

"I can't eat all of this."

"You should try. You need feeding up."

After lunch they stopped at a newsagent to pick up a local paper. Joan scanned the classifieds. "Plenty of openings for shop clerks. Flats are expensive, though. It looks like I'd have to make do with a bedsit."

"You don't want to work at a bank?"

"Are you mad? I don't even want to set foot in a bank!" Joan shuddered.

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it? I told Paul Marlock when the weekend float was delivered."

"They could have learned that by surveilling the bank. I’m certain they did, just to be sure of their information."

"I still should have known better than to spill everything to a bloke just because he made a fuss over me. It's pathetic, is what it is. And it got Ronnie Gidderton killed."

"The Matthews brothers are what, or rather who, got Ronnie Gidderton killed. And he played into their hands. He sold us both out, Miss Thursday."

"He said he wanted to save us all, be a hero."

"Wanting to be a hero is what usually gets people killed," Morse said darkly. "There was a constable driving the getaway bus. If he'd kept quiet, he would have come out unscathed. They already knew I was with the police."

"So they would have killed you, instead. They almost did." Joan closed the paper. "Let's keep going."

Morse nodded. "Which direction?"

She shrugged. "South. Along the Severn."

They drove mostly in silence. Joan fiddled with the radio from time to time, always tuning to a pop station. After a few hours they reached the bridge across the Severn, just north of Bristol. "West. Go west."

Morse obediently took the turnoff. "I've never been to Wales."

"Neither have I."

The main highway took them south toward Cardiff. "Do you want to branch off onto one of the smaller highways? Only we're going to get into wilder territory, and unless you're planning on taking up farm work or living off the land-- "

"We can keep going on this road." Joan sounded tired.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Little bit. I kept dreaming I was back at the bank."

Morse hadn't slept either, but he'd worked through the night plenty of times before and was running on adrenaline, and still felt awake. "Sleep awhile, if you can. I'll wake you when we reach Cardiff." Once she fell asleep he tuned the radio to classical music.

 

Thanks to the long late-June day, it was still before sunset when they reached Cardiff. "Miss Thursday? Miss Thursday, we're here."

Joan stretched but didn't open her eyes. "Still not calling me Joan," she observed, sounding tetchy.

"Old habit. My father would have my hide otherwise."

"It's square, is what it is."

"I know," Morse answered lightly.

"Square and old-fashioned."

"Don't know any other way to be."

They found a place along the coast where they could park the car. Joan spent a long time walking and looking at the water, Morse tagging along a few paces behind lost in his own thoughts. She undid her ponytail, letting the wind blow her thick dark hair.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

She snorted. "You have a terrible sense of timing. I thought you were gorgeous from that first morning you turned up on our doorstep. But every time I tried to flirt, it flew right past you."

"I'm horrible at that sort of thing."

"Even when you had a chance, walking me home from the Moonlight."

"You'd just been out with Jakes. I wasn't going to make a move on his girlfriend."

"Most blokes aren't that scrupulous."

"I am."

"Then, when you came back from Witney, you were so different at first. Dad was really worried about you. When we ended up on that blind date with Maureen and Strange, I rather hoped something might happen. But you were focused on that other girl— “

"Monica."

"And then she gave you that scarf for Christmas. You were so— _light_ , when you were seeing her. In the sense of being happy and at ease. And in the sense of— you were glowing, Morse. I was happy for you. And then everything went pear-shaped. Dad in hospital. You in prison. I knew you were innocent, of course. We all did."

"If I'd figured things out faster, or found someone to go with me to Blenheim Vale, your father might not have been shot."

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Morse!" Joan said fiercely. "You could have run off, left Dad to face Deare alone. Strange did. Jakes did."

"Jakes was in bad shape that night. He'd been one of the kids there." Normally Morse wouldn't have said anything, but Jakes was on the other side of the planet now, starting a new life well away from his ghosts.

"And you'd just been shot at. You were still the only one there. If you hadn't been, Deare would have let Dad die out there alone, and probably pinned that on you too. You have nothing to blame yourself for."

"Neither have you."

Joan shook her head. "I still don't believe you."

They found a bench and sat side by side, watching the waves, the sound of the sea lulling Morse. Joan didn't notice until he leaned against her side, and she realized he'd fallen asleep. She felt horribly selfish, making him drive her around all day. Yes, he'd offered, but she could have told him she was staying in Gloucester and then caught a train once he'd left. But it had been comforting to have him with her, not judging, not forcing her to talk, not mouthing platitudes. Just there.

She noticed faint shadows under his eyes and wondered how much sleep he'd gotten. He'd been waiting that morning when she left her parents' house. She held still, listening to the sea and his deep breathing, remembering the way he'd looked at her that morning, the way his eyes had filled and he broke off when he said, "you mean the world— " leaving the rest unspoken.

Had he fallen for her? If so, compared to other blokes, Morse moved at a glacial pace. Then again he wasn't a kid. He'd had his heart badly broken before. Of course it would make him cautious. She'd once overheard her mum tell her dad Morse was the sort who took everything to heart. If only it had happened a few months earlier; if she was busy with him, she'd never have been interested in Paul Marlock, the robbery might not have happened, and this would be an ordinary June evening. She let him sleep as the shadows lengthened, until he stirred and sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"How long did I sleep?"

“Nearly an hour."

"You should have wakened me."

"I figured you needed it. You've had a long day."

He stood and held out his hand to help her up. "What now?"

"I honestly don't know." Joan blinked back tears. "I don't know what to do." Morse hesitantly took her into his arms, holding her close and resting his chin on her head. "I just want to stop feeling like this."

"It takes time." Morse looked around. "We should probably figure out what we're doing for the night and find someplace for dinner. Let's go back to the car."

 

They drove around, looking for someplace to stay. "If we rent two rooms, it will take quite a bit of money," Morse told her after one inquiry. "I'll get one for you and sleep in the car."

"What about one room with two beds?"

"No reputable place is going to rent to an unmarried couple."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Like it's anyone's business. We're both over twenty-one." She looked around, spotting a five-and-ten down the street. "I have an idea. Give me a few minutes." When she returned, Joan held out her left hand to him. "What do you think?"

Morse immediately understood and examined the cheap gold-colored band on her ring finger. "It wouldn't pass close scrutiny."

"It doesn't need to. Besides, how do they know we're not skint newlyweds who couldn't afford better for now?"

The next place had one vacancy left. "I'm afraid it only has the two single beds," the desk clerk told them apologetically as Morse signed the register _E. & Mrs. Morse._

Morse hid the relief he felt, while Joan only said, "We'll manage. Is there a decent restaurant nearby? Nothing fancy, we didn't pack anything posh." The clerk recommended a seafood restaurant a short distance away. Morse carried their luggage upstairs, Joan at his side, to freshen up for dinner.

Joan had rarely eaten fish that wasn't served with chips and wrapped in newspaper. Morse pointed her toward something mild and ordered trout for himself, choosing a wine to go with their meal. She was used to being taken to pubs and chippies and pizza places on dates; this was sophisticated by comparison, although she knew it wasn't really a date.

Afterward, back in their room, Morse asked if she wanted the bathroom first, and Joan went to take a bath and get ready for bed. Morse waited until the door was closed and the water running to pick up the phone. "I'd like to place a call to Oxford 3447, please."

It rang only once, followed by Fred's anxious-sounding voice. "Hello? Joan?"

"Sir? It's— "

"Morse." A sigh of relief. "Is Joan all right? Where are you?"

"She's fine. Well, she's safe at least. I'm hoping a good night's sleep will help clear her head."

"Do you need any money? I can wire you some first thing in the morning."

"We're okay for now. Hopefully our tour of Britain won't last more than a few days, and then I can convince her to return to Oxford."

"Win's right here. Let her talk to Joan."

"She's in the bath. That's the only reason I dared call. I don't want to spook her. She was running away this morning when I found her."

"All right. I trust you to do your best for her."

"She just shut off the bathwater. I'd better go."

When Joan emerged dressed in a summer nightgown, smelling of soap and mint toothpaste, Morse went into the bathroom. Sinking into a tub of warm water felt wonderful and he soaked awhile before washing. Joan was in one of the beds when he came out and he quickly took the other one, turning off the bedside lamp.

Lying in the dark loosened Joan's tongue. "Besides Blenheim Vale, are there other things that happened like that? That were hard to get over?"

Morse rubbed his face. "My very first case here. Well, to start— my mother died when I was twelve. My parents had divorced when I was small. After Mum died, I was sent to live with my father and his new family. They didn't want me. Joyce was the only one glad to have me around, but she was only three or four years old." He rolled onto his stomach. "By the time I was fifteen, I was— in a very dark place. Very dark. But then I heard the most amazing music in a record shop. A woman's voice. It was my first exposure to opera, and I bought the album. Her name was Rosalind Calloway. She was young and beautiful, and had the voice of an angel. I think I had a bit of a schoolboy crush on her. I found out opera drove Gwen and Cyril mad, so I started collecting records. I genuinely liked it, though. It was something beautiful, in a world that wasn't. It was a lifeline I could cling to until I escaped to Oxford. Then I clung to it after that collapsed, while I was in the army, and at Carshall."

He drew a deep breath. "When I came here on that first case, in my investigations I met Rosalind Calloway. She'd retired from singing professionally, married a don, and was living happily in north Oxford. She was as sweet and kind as I'd imagined. Then I solved the case. Her married name was Stromming, and she'd murdered a teenage girl and her college boyfriend, the girl because her husband was having an affair with her, and the boy to provide us with a culprit."

"Rosalind Stromming— I remember that name from the papers."

"I was able to hear her sing live, at a benefit concert, before I arrested her. She hanged herself in her cell that night. I tried to save her, did rescue breathing until a doctor came, but it was too late. She'd saved my life, but I couldn't save hers. I sat up all night listening to that album, then put it away. I've not listened to it since."

"Oh, Morse." He could hear the tears in Joan's voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Then there was Martin Gull. The Opera Phantom Killer, I believe the _Mail_ called him. He did terrible things to his victims. He had a sort of shrine, with a photo of me in the center of it. Atl least he’ll never get out of Broadmoor now. Blenheim Vale and realizing too late that ACC Deare had been using us, your dad and me, all along. Spending weeks in Farnleigh Prison without a single visitor. Then earlier this month, I was almost mauled to death by a tiger. In Oxford! Sometimes I think I should just pack it in, emigrate to Canada or New Zealand or the States. Become a teacher or something. Sometimes it's just not worth it."

"Dad thinks you're Inspector material. Chief Inspector, even."

"So he said. After the tiger."

"I just— I feel like I need to get out of Oxford. I get my head turned by people like Marlock, and get people like Ronnie killed."

"It's not your fault." He would repeat it as many times as it took to sink in.

"This morning— when you said I mean the world to my parents— then you said I mean the world— what did you mean by that?"

"What do you think? Why do you think I offered to drive you hither and yon?"

"Because you're 'the sort of copper who sees young ladies safely home'?"

"Besides that."

Joan's voice broke as she answered. "You shouldn't. It will go wrong somehow, and I'll get you killed, too."

Morse sighed. "Considering everything that’s happened to me the last few years, I doubt you've got anything can top that." Joan giggled a little hysterically. "You realize it's not either/or. If you need to get out of Oxford for awhile, you could go someplace like London, get a job in a shop on Carnaby Street or something. Your parents would probably help you if you needed it while you were starting out. Change of scenery and all."

"It could be good for me, I suppose. But what about you?"

"What about me? You're very special to me, but that's not a claim on you. You're young. You need to get out there and live your life. You'll make mistakes and some of them will be awful. We all do. It's called life and being human."

He could hear her bedding rustling. A moment later, Joan kissed his cheek in the barely-there light. "Good night, Morse."

"Good night— Joan." He could feel her smiling against his cheek.

 

Morse slept heavily, waking after ten hours half-afraid Joan had left during the night. But she was still in the other bed, curled up asleep. He let out a little sigh of relief then stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, letting himself wake slowly. He finally got up, collected his change of clothes, and went into the bathroom to dress for the day.

Joan woke, saw Morse's empty bed and then heard water running in the loo. She felt well-rested and the events at the bank still hurt, but were slightly softened around the edges. She got up and padded over to where the loo door stood mostly open. Morse was wearing his trousers and vest, shaving. She leaned on the doorframe, watching.

He noticed her reflection in the mirror. "Do you need in? I can finish later."

She shook her head. "I'm good for now. Used to having to take turns in the morning. I loved watching my dad shave when I was small. Then Sam came along, and we both did it. Dad would put a bit of shaving cream on our cheeks and use the razor head without a blade to scrape it off."

Morse finished and rinsed his face and the razor before draining the sink and putting on a bit of aftershave. "All yours. I can finish up in the main room." As he slipped past her he smelled of bergamot, lavender, and spices, and she drew a deep breath of it.

Once they were ready, Morse carried down their luggage and settled the hotel bill. They found a cafe nearby that was open for breakfast. Over tea and pastries, he decided to mention the elephant in the room. "So, what's today's plan?"

Joan took a long drink of tea. "I think I should probably go home. If you can make it through everything that's happened to you, maybe I can get through this."

They were on the M4 not long after, retracing their route along the Severn, crossing the bridge back into England. Morse took a quicker, more direct route home, turning onto the A34 northbound at early afternoon.

"Do you want to stop for lunch along the way? There's a good pub in Abingdon."

"Mum will probably try to stuff us with food the moment we walk in the front door."

Morse nodded and they continued north, through Bagley Wood and turning right to cross the Thames into Cowley. Morse drove onto the Thursdays' street not long after, pulling up outside the familiar house. Win must have been watching for them, because the front door was opened within moments after Morse shut off the Jaguar. "Joan!"

Joan met her halfway up the front walk. "Mum." Then Win was hugging her, kissing her cheek, and fussing over her. "I'm fine, really." Meanwhile, Morse was collecting her suitcase from the boot.

Win turned her attention to him. "Thank you for looking after her for us. We were so worried until you rang the station yesterday."

Fred had come out to join them. He held Joan for a long moment. "Gave your mum quite a scare, pet. You should have wakened us. We'd have seen you off, given you some cash to get started. We'll have all kinds of extra, now we don't have Sam eating us out of house and home." He looked past her. "Thank you, Morse. I noted you as 'out on police business' yesterday."

"Sir? "

"You were looking out for our Joan. It's good enough for me."

Win herded them all inside, insisting Morse stay to tea. "I made plenty, just in case the two of you turned up." Suddenly something caught her eye, and she gave a soft shriek. "Oh, Joan! Did the two of you elope? Is that why you ran off together?"

"Mum, no! Why would you think that?" Then Joan spotted the cheap costume ring she was still wearing. "Oh, this— it was for registering at a hotel for the night. We couldn't afford two rooms, and Morse said they wouldn't rent one room to an unmarried couple. He offered to give me the room and sleep in the car, but I nipped over to a five and ten and bought this."

"There were two beds," Morse added nervously.

"The desk clerk actually apologized for it," Joan giggled.

"Nothing happened, I swear it."

"He's right. Nothing happened. Any other bloke would have tried it on with me, but Morse is 'the kind of copper who sees young ladies safely home.'"

"Of course he is," Thursday said darkly, the threat against any who weren't smoldering beneath his words.

 "He's square and old-fashioned," Joan teased, smiling at Morse.

 "He's a gentleman," Win corrected, her tone fond. "Come inside, Morse. You need feeding up."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
